


For the Birds

by seenonlyfromadistance



Category: Philip Marlowe - Raymond Chandler
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, other sappy nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seenonlyfromadistance/pseuds/seenonlyfromadistance
Summary: Marlowe works a case and Terry helps, though helping means pretending to be in a relationship to follow a lead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so self indulgent! so just for me!

When Terry drove, Terry picked where we went to drink, and when we didn't go to Victor's he took me to the strangest places L.A. had to offer.  
  
He took me to dives in basements full of beautiful prostitutes dressed like it was twenty years ago and drinking absinthe, to beach bars with sand on the floor that only served frozen drinks, to Hollywood hotels where the lights were never more than half on and no one looked too closely at the movie stars they were bumping elbows with. Terry took me to every interesting and unique place in the city, and he introduced me around like I fit in (which I never did), and like he knew everyone (which I think he might have).  
  
We were sitting in a corner of a dark bar where a young man in very small glasses was constantly tinkering on a harpsichord when I finally asked him how he knew all these places.  
  
"Oh," he said with a little sigh, "I have a lot of free time, Marlowe." He patted my wrist and looked back towards the man at the harpsichord. I expected him to elaborate further, but he didn’t.  
  
For all his strange hideaways and bizarre spots, I’d be wrong to say that we didn’t nevertheless spend most of our time at Victor's, sipping our drinks and talking idly about nothing much. Not every night was an adventure and I didn’t need or want it to be. Mostly I was perfectly content to be elbow to elbow with Terry.  
  
One night in the middle of summer he came to collect me later than usual. It was hot and I'd been sweating the day away working a case. I hardly noticed that instead of the usual four or five, it was closer to seven when he strolled into my office. Leaning against my door frame, he lifted an eyebrow at me.  
  
"Sorry I'm late, Marlowe. Nice of you to stick around."  
  
I checked my watch. "I didn't even realize what time it was." Finally I actually looked at him. Usually Terry arrived at my office looking exactly as proper as a gentleman could, in suits with crisp collars and ties with matching, carefully-folded pocket squares. Maybe it was that he didn’t have much to do all day but primp and put himself together. He put me and my rumpled shirts to shame. In all honesty, I’d never thought about why he always looked so natty when he came to see me. I suppose I always considered it an extension of his wealth. Today, he looked casual and tired. Maybe a little sick, like he was recovering from a summer flu. His cream suit was slightly rumpled, he wasn't wearing a tie and his light pink shirt was unbuttoned to below his collarbones. He looked a little washed out, like a ghost coming in through the haze, but appealing nevertheless. I could see the scars that trickled down his neck. They were more noticeable the further under his collar they went.  
  
"Hot out, isn't it?" I picked my jaw up off the floor as he brushed his hair off his forehead. There was a twinkle in his eye as he came in and settled into the client chair. "What are you working on?"  
  
"A case. Missing son… or a son who’s run off, rather. Parents want me to find him."  
  
Terry nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Need help?"  
  
And actually, I did. On my own, I’d hit a dead end; with Terry's knowledge of the seedy underground scene in Los Angeles, he could be extremely helpful. I talked through the case and he nodded and thought, and then listed three places he thought the kid, name of Darrin Sterling, son of a millionaire automobile magnate, might hang out.  
  
"But looking at his picture," he said, flipping back to me a snapshot of a thin young man with a sweep of black hair and a sloppy smile, "I think we should start down towards the beach. I feel like I almost recognize him."  
  
He drove us in his little Jupiter Jowett, shifting easily as we floated through the city.  
  
The place he took us to was half underground, built into what might as well have been a sand dune. Lit entirely by small hanging lamps and candles on shelves, it looked like a pretty basic beach bar, the lights imitating the twinkling of the stars, which were just becoming visible as we arrived. But there was something about the place… something about the intimacy it seemed to purposefully, and successfully, cultivate.  
  
Above all, it was a cozy, quiet little bar-- just our type. Terry swanned in like he owned the place, making himself very visible while taking a long sweeping look at everyone who was there. I followed behind, somewhat pathetically puppyish. We sat at the bar shoulder to shoulder. The bartender greeted Terry cheerily and gave me a somewhat less warm welcome.  
  
"He's fine, he's with me," Terry said with a wink and a hand on my arm. He wrote a little note on a napkin and slipped it into the bartenders breast pocket along with a crisp bill, folded into narrow fourths. The guy read the note, shrugged, served us drinks, and then left us alone.  
  
It took me half an hour to realize there wasn't a single woman in the bar, and another half hour to realize what that meant about the couple necking in the corner.  
  
"Terry." We were both on our third drinks, and I wasn’t sure why he’d brought us there. "What sort of place is this?"  
  
He just laughed at me and tossed his head, flipping his hair off his forehead. I liked him best like this, loose and tipsy and laughing and warmly lit. He looked his best, and usually I could understand him. In this moment, he was more than a little opaque to me. It seemed like he knew what he was doing though.  
  
"Don't worry, Marlowe." He pushed my glass a little closer to me. "You’ll see. For now, it's just a quiet bar I thought you'd like. Trust me."  
  
A young man, hardly more than a teenager, suddenly appeared at my elbow. There was a delicacy about him you could see from the first, exemplified in the loose, too big way his suit sat on him. His shoulders had some breadth to them though, like with a little effort he could be a hunk. Maybe he had been a tennis star in high school. His face was handsome enough.  
  
"Oh, sorry," he said, a laugh bubbling up out of his chest. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I hope I didn't get in the way." He leaned over the bar to try and catch the bartender, who was firmly busy at the other end.  
  
"Not at all," Terry said. He leaned one elbow on the bar and looked at the kid warmly, like a teacher looks at a particularly apt student.  
  
"Oh good," the kid said. Realizing the bartender wasn't going to turn his way any time soon, the kid slid onto the stool next to me and dropped his chin into his hands. A lock of blond hair fell over his forehead and he blew it away in a petulant, charmingly childish way. "Have you two... been here before?"  
  
Terry shrugged. "Once or twice."  
  
"How about..." he gestured to me. "You look a little... anxious."  
  
"You're pretty forward, kid," I said through my teeth. Terry laughed and touched my arm. His hand lingered longer than it needed to, and I couldn’t help but take note of it. My shoulders were tight up around my ears.  
  
"Sorry, sorry," the kid shrugged. "I'm drunk. You know how it is."  
  
"I sure do," Terry said, finishing up his drink. He clacked his glass down heavily on the bar. The bartender turned immediately towards us. Terry lifted the glass and the bartender waved that he'd be over in a minute.  
  
"How do you do that?" The kid whined and Terry gave one of his laconic shrugs. Bartenders always liked Terry. I'd never met one that he couldn't wrap around his little finger. “I’m Lindsay, by the way. Lindsay Wint. That’s me.”  
  
Terry gave a lazy smile and offered a hand, which the kid shook a little too enthusiastically. “Terry Lennox.” He looked at me. I caught up with the idea and shook hands with Wint too, and told him my name. I’d known a Lindsay once, briefly, a long time ago. He could have been an older brother to this kid. They both were blond, and handsome, and a little delicate. The nostalgic twinge didn’t sit well with me and I tried to drown it under the rest of my drink.  
  
Terry and Lindsay chatted across me, each leaning rather heavily into my personal space. Terry's knee bumped against mine under the bar. I could see he was winning the kid over. They had been effusing praise about the bar when suddenly Lindsay seemed to remember I was there.  
  
"Hey, I hate to be too forward," the kid started, his face flushing pink. I looked over at Terry, who smirked at me playfully, knowing what I was thinking. Wint leaned in conspiratorially. "But you know, I just want to know… I mean-- but-- are you two... You two are together?"  
  
My eyebrows went all the way up my forehead and my stomach leapt into my throat.  
  
Terry leaned forward, dropping an arm confidently around my shoulders. His other hand settled against my chest. He smiled a loose, cat-who-ate-the-canary grin. "What? Don't think I could snag this one?"  
  
So that’s what we were doing. I swallowed hard, trying to get my cool back. I tried to catch Terry’s eyes, but he was locked firmly on Lindsay, being convincing through pure conviction. Okey, I thought. I just have to trust him on this. Trust him. Sure. Be cool, Marlowe. Be cool.  
  
The kid flushed. I could tell that he didn't believe the reverse was possible. How I could have snagged Terry. And why should he? I was wasn't as cute as I used to be, and Terry, even with his white hair and his scars, was still young and approaching a movie star levels of handsome. A charming lost dog like Terry could get anyone he wanted, which was how he'd managed to marry the most eligible millionairess in America twice over. Why he killed time with me had never been something I could easily wrap my head around, even if I was just a friendly distraction. Anything more couldn’t make much sense.  
  
"Well," Terry said, "I did. He's my guy." There was a funny bitterness in his voice, a sloppy derision towards his own words. I don't think Lindsay picked up on it. Terry pressed his lips briefly against my cheekbone, and a shot of lightning jumped down my spine. Startled, I half turned towards him and suddenly his lips were on my mouth, a hard press of a kiss. He pulled away with an accomplished smile smeared across his face. "Isn't that right?"  
  
I just nodded. It was about all I could do. I was totally frozen, my body turned to ice, and Terry was grinning at me with a slightly manic look in his eye. Convincing through conviction. My heart was pounding in my ears. I swallowed and tried to breathe.

“Oh,” Lindsay said. He was a little flushed, maybe a little embarrassed, like I was, by Terry’s public show of affection. But he looked, somehow, deeply relieved. “Gotcha. Well, hell, that’s just swell. That’s real swell.”  
  
Terry’s arm stayed around my shoulders. “I don’t know if we’re going to get this bartender back,” he said slowly. Suddenly it became clear that this had been part of his plan all along, a plan he hadn't let me in on but had been working since the moment we walked in. He turned to me. “Maybe we should go someplace else.”  
  
“Maybe,” I said.  
  
“Philip, darling,” he drawled. “What was that place Darrin mentioned? We should go there.” He dropped the name hard and I saw Lindsay’s ears perk up.  
  
“I don’t remember,” I said, trying to play along without quite knowing the game. I could see what he was trying for, at least. Maybe.  
  
“Oh, yes you do. You must.” He hit me on the arm and I found myself laughing, so he hit me again. It was playful and utterly natural, and yet we’d never played at this together before. “That one he said he liked so much. That he went to all the time.”  
  
“I don’t remember the name, I promise you.”  
  
When I finally turned back towards Lindsay, his face was scrunched up in deep thought.  
  
“You guys know Darrin?”  
  
Terry laughed, a charming, calculated twinkle. “There are plenty of Darrins in Los Angeles. We happen to know one of them.”  
  
“Which Darrin do you know?”  
  
“Sterling.” I provided.  
  
“That’s _my_ Darrin!” Lindsay exclaimed, half leaping up from his stool. I was starting to see that Terry had come into this bar with more information than I had. He was doing excellent work. “I mean, I know him too.”  
  
“Oh, wonderful!” Terry leaned forwards towards Lindsay, casually invading my personal space. “Then you must know where I mean! He talks about it all the time, but I just can’t... “ he made a vague gesture, “put my finger on the name of the place.”  
  
Lindsay tapped at his chin. “Pajaro?” Terry looked at me. I couldn’t tell him anything. “The place with the birds?”  
  
“Birds?”  
  
“If it’s the place I’m thinking of, he absolutely would have mentioned the birds.”  
  
“Oh!” Terry suddenly exclaimed, startling me. “The birds! Of course. Yes, the birds. The one with the birds.” He flapped his hand at me, looking rather desperately into my eyes. I got the drift. Terry was something of an actor but I was supposed to be the detective.  
  
“Of course, the place with the birds!” I repeated, trying to feign some kind of recognition. I felt pretty in over my head. “That’s the one.” Even if we didn’t end up finding Sterling there, it seemed like a decent place to sniff out some other lead. How Terry had gotten us this far was still unclear to me. How he could have known to come here, how he could have known the kid we talked to would know our guy… But maybe it was all luck. Probably it wasn’t. Maybe it didn’t matter much either way, as long as it worked out.  
  
Lindsay turned towards the bartender again, who wasn’t showing any sign of ever coming back our way. I suppose that’s what the little bribe Terry had handed over had been for. To get us onto the next spot. Lindsay pouted. “We _should_ go to Pajaro,” he sighed, effectively lumping himself in with us, which I think had been Terry’s plan all along. “I’m supposed to be there later tonight anyway. Might as well go now.”  
  
“Yeah,” I said idly. “That’s on... Jefferson?” I made a wild guess and Lindsay laughed. Terry leaned his cheek against my shoulder.  
  
“No, no. It’s up by the cemetery.” As if there were only one cemetery in L.A.  
  
“We’ve never been there before. You’ll have to forgive us,” Terry drawled.  
  
“It’s a great joint,” Lindsay said. Then, decisively: “Let’s go.”  
  
Terry’s hand found mine where it was resting on my lap. He looked up at me, still slumped comfortably against my shoulder and gave my hand a little squeeze. “What do you say, old man?”  
  
Next thing I knew we were sauntering down the road outside the bar, Terry’s arm tucked into mine, him leaning heavily and warmly against me, while Lindsay jotted along a few steps ahead. He’d said he would drive since he knew where he was going, and Terry and I had followed along after him. As for me, I was out of my element and happy enough to let myself get washed along with the tide, hoping it would lead me to some shore that made sense. For moments in the bar, I’d forgotten I was on a case. It had all been too chummy, too easy. Lindsay was a nice enough kid, and Terry had been particularly attentive and charming.  
  
But then, as we stepped out of the bar, Terry winked at me as he hooked his arm around my elbow and the illusion cracked. A case. A runaway kid that Terry had figured out and then led me by the hand to all the pieces of the puzzle to finding him. Some detective I was turning out to be.  
  
We all slid into the front seat of Lindsay’s hulking Cadillac, Terry in the middle. The three of us crunched into the front was tight, but better this than one of us in the back. Lindsay seemed perfectly comfortable as he drove, hunched over the wheel like an old woman. He bantered quite happily with Terry, who leaned against my shoulder and hmm-ed along to Lindsay’s stories. It was so intimate and comfortable and warm, I put an arm around his shoulders.  
  
Pajaro was on the second floor of a building not only near a cemetery, but overlooking it. And, as promised, there were birds. Actual birds. The entire bar was a huge aviary, full of more tropical birds than I’d ever seen. As we rounded the corner from the stairs, I heard Terry gasp in awe and look upwards. I followed his eyeline to see a particularly vibrant toucan staring down at us.  
  
“You’ve never been here?” I whispered to him. It certainly seemed like his weird kind of place.  
  
“No,” he said. “But I’m sure I’ll come again.” He wandered off to find the bar and I watched his white hair weave through the crowd, tilted upwards towards the birds, until he disappeared into the throng of people. Lindsay took hold of my arm.  
  
“Come with me,” he said, grinning like a fool. I wondered if he was too drunk to have driven us here. It didn’t matter much once he’d dragged me into a corner full of pretty young things. I was handed a glass of champagne and the evening became a blur of colors and feathers and laughing faces. Giggling young women leaned against me to pour themselves more champagne while I took long, slow breaths. I was told more names than I could possibly have remembered. A hand touched my waist and I turned to find Terry pressed against my back. He smiled and put his chin on my shoulder.  
  
“Look who I found,” he said, gesturing behind him. I looked past him to see a young man with a mess of dark hair, holding two glasses. It took me a moment, but then I realized it was Darrin Sterling. Terry had solved my case for me. “Our dear friend.” Terry smirked and Darrin looked at us a little confused, but charmed. He gave a little wave.  
  
“Darrin!” A voice exclaimed behind me. Lindsay came charging past me and threw his arms around Darrin’s neck. “There you are!” He pivoted, keeping an arm hooked around Darrin, who looked mad to have nearly spilled his drinks. “You know Terry and Phil already, I guess.”  
  
Darrin looked at us, then flushed. He’d never met us before so of course he didn’t know us, but he clearly thought he should and was embarrassed that he didn’t. He was cute with some color on his cheeks. He handed a glass to Lindsay, and with a clearly practiced gesture, ran a hand through his hair and laughed his discomfort off. “Of course, of course. Hello again.”  
  
From that point, we were all buddy-buddy, an inseparable foursome. Lindsay kept buying drinks, and Terry kept a hand on my shoulder. The kids looked at Terry like some kind of idol, which I couldn’t entirely fathom, except that he was about ten years older than they were, and seemed to have his life happily together. I’m sure that was attractive to them in the same way that kids look up to their older brothers. And he was friendly, easy, open. Meanwhile, they were understandably slightly more wary of me. Being ten years older than Terry put me firmly in distant cousin or even Nearly Your Father territory. Eventually they did warm up to me, in no small part because Terry was so hot on me and he convinced them I was alright. And I suppose I made a witty comment or two. I'm not without my charms. The night wore on, our surrounding circle of pretty young things thinned out, at least five delicate waifs (girls and boys alike) kissed my cheek goodnight, and as the bar began to empty out even the birds settled down to sleep.  
  
Terry and Lindsay went to get more drinks, leaving Darrin and I sitting alone in a round corner booth.  
  
“Terry’s a good guy,” he said to me, brushing hair off his forehead. I nodded. I was feeling pretty dizzy and dreamy with drink. “Those scars are really something. That hair too.” He gave a low whistle.  
  
“From the war.” I’d never asked Terry about his scars, but that was the assumption I’d always made. It seemed like a safe bet. Darrin touched the side of his own face, considering.  
  
“Is that how you two met?”  
  
“In the war? No. I scraped him up off the sidewalk about a year ago.” Darrin laughed. “He was drunk and needed looking after. That was the start of it, I guess.”  
  
“Lindsay and I met at college,” he said vaguely. Then, “Awfully nice of you to take care of a stranger.”  
  
“I’m a nice guy,” I said. I watched Terry come back from the bar, grinning as he and Lindsay walked arm in arm, both balancing drinks precariously in their hands. “I guess I felt… something of a kindred spirit in him. Like it was…” I turned towards Darrin and my head spun suddenly. I was drunker than I’d thought. Very unprofessional of me. I’d been about to say ‘fate’, which was about as melodramatic as you could get, so I bit my tongue. “I don’t know. Nevermind.”  
  
Darrin hmm-ed and nodded.  
  
“Terry’s like a lost dog,” I said, finding words that felt right, “but he’s my lost dog.”  
  
Darrin slid down a little in the booth, leaning his head on the back of the bench. “Not so lost anymore then, huh?”  
  
“We’ll see if I can hold onto him.”  
  
Lindsay and Terry chose that exact moment to drop into the booth with us. “Here you are, darling,” Terry said warmly, handing me a cold, wet glass.  
  
“You seem to have lost most of the liquid from this one,” I noted. The glass was hardly half full.  
  
“Oh, sorry,” he said dismissively and planted a whopper of a kiss on me. I could feel him laughing through it, and when he pulled back he collapsed into a fit of it, his forehead pressed against my shoulder. I looked over to see Darrin smiling at us, his fingers twisting though Lindsay’s blond hair. This was why Terry had done all this posturing, and brought me into it. To make these two comfortable with us. Together, we were all sharing one secret, and that made us fast friends. Here among the birds, our secret didn't seem to matter. The thing that had brought us all together dissolved away, and now we were just chums enjoying drinks.  
  
A short time later, a young woman wearing exclusively feathers asked us to leave, as the bar was closing for the night.  
  
“The birds need their rest,” she said in a husky, dreamy voice, “and it looks like you boys do too.”  
  
The four of us stumbled down the stairs and back to Lindsay’s car. Finding myself the most sober of us, though hardly that, I climbed behind the wheel and started the long slow drive towards home. I didn’t ask where I should go, I just drove. I was running on auto-pilot. Darrin and Lindsay were in a puddle in the backseat, and I did my best to ignore whatever they were getting up to. Terry, meanwhile, much more romantically, sat close to me in the front, leaning his head on my shoulder and resting one hand on my knee. It was very soft and very gentle-- and totally unnecessary since Darrin and Lindsay were fully occupied in the back and taking no notice of us. But I didn’t say anything, and I certainly didn’t remove his hand or shrug him off me. Not at all. Maybe I should have. I cruised through Los Angeles with Terry at my side, playing chaperone for the two kids necking in the backseat.  
  
The streets were wavering rivers that I followed the flow of until they canted upwards into the hills, where the asphalt blended into the dark sky, and the glass in the pavement could have been the twinkle of stars.  
  
“Concentrate,” Terry whispered in my ear. “Drive safely now.”  
  
What a night.  
  
Back at mine, I led the way up the stairs to my little house. Terry tagged along at a decent rate while the boys followed very slowly after us. They were drunk as skunks, and watching them stagger up the stairs was nothing short of hilarious. The pair of them made it eventually, and I unlocked the door and waved them in. Lindsay and Darrin immediately collapsed onto a sofa while I turned on lights and Terry opened a window or two.  
  
“Cute house.”  
  
“What’ve you got to drink, Phil?”  
  
“You mean you want more?”  
  
“If you’re sharing,” came the charming little reply. Somewhere off to my left, Terry laughed.  
  
“In the kitchen,” I said. “There’s a bottle of something in the cabinets. Just don’t drink the champagne in the cooler.”  
  
Darrin gave me a snappy little salute and dragged Lindsay up from the sofa. Together they wove their way past Terry and I to the kitchen.  
  
I left them to it and headed for my bedroom. My head was swimming and I was feeling too hot under the collar. I needed a moment of quiet and to loosen my tie. I needed some water too, and to quit drinking for the night. I’d had more than enough and let this go on too long.  
  
Terry had followed me into the bedroom, though I didn’t notice until he had closed the door behind him with a click.  
  
“Well, Marlowe, we did it.” He leaned against the door frame while I fumbled with my tie. A peal of laughter came from the the front of the house.  
  
“You did it, more like.” Terry gave a bashful little shrug and went to sit on the edge of my bed.  
  
“Happy to help. If being a detective is always this fun, maybe I’ll pick it up as a career.” It was a little awkward. We’d been playing at being a happy couple all night, and now that we were alone again I, at least, didn’t quite know how to behave. He seemed somewhat at a loss too. “I hope… you’re not too uncomfortable about all this.”  
  
I shrugged. “It got the job done.” Terry was watching me very closely. I tried to pretend I hadn’t noticed.  
  
“He’s a good kid."  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“They both are.” I didn’t say anything. I agreed, of course. They’d been nothing but kind and friendly to us all night. I didn’t meet a lot of noble, decent people in my line of work, but these two were alright. More than alright. They were good stock, with good hearts. So they were a little flouncy. So what? I liked them. I’d enjoyed the evening. “Why can’t they drink the champagne?” Terry asked idly. His long fingers picked at my blankets.  
  
“I’m saving it,” I said.  
  
“What for?”  
  
“A special occasion.” I’d bought it on a whim almost four months ago, and now it had taken on a kind of mythic quality, where I felt a need for something truly remarkable to happen before I could pop it open.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
I went to sit next to him on the bed. “I don’t know yet.” I think when I’d bought it, I’d had half an idea that he and I would drink it when he split from Sylvia again, which seemed not only likely but imminent. Now it seemed far away. Another life. I hadn't even considered Sylvia all night.  
  
“Maybe tonight?” Something in his tone sent a stone dropping into my stomach.  
  
“No, I don’t think so.”  
  
He frowned. “How will you know when the moment is right?”  
  
I shrugged. Everything had a strange, hushed quality about it, like we were ensconced in cotton. “I don’t know.” We were sitting so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “But I’ll know it when it happens.” I could have counted his eyelashes if I’d wanted to. “I know if I drink it at the wrong moment I’ll regret it.” He was breathing softly, quietly, his mouth slightly open.  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to do something you regret.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Of course.” His words were nothing more than a sigh. The room was spinning. His gaze flickered from mine down then back up. His eyes were a little glassy as he looked at me. His teeth scraped his bottom lip and I felt him lean in towards me. I had a swell of feeling and the beginning of an impulse to meet him halfway, but before I could there was a crash of noise from the front of the house and a holler followed by raucous laughter.  
  
The spell was broken and I leapt to my feet, leaving Terry dazed on the bed. I rushed out of the room to make sure no one had hurt themselves.  
  
When I got to the kitchen it became clear that nothing serious had happened at all. Darrin and Lindsay had lost my whiskey bottle into the sink, where it had made friends with a few old coffee mugs. The pair of them had collapsed into a puddle of laughter on the floor. Relieved, I found myself leaning over the counter, crushing a wave of nausea. I’d had too much to drink. I’d gotten too close to Terry. The smell of him was still in my nostrils, sharp and citrusy. I got a glass of water for myself and filled up three more which I left lined up on the counter. I refilled my glass four times before I felt any better at all, by which point Terry had joined us in the kitchen, floating through like a ghost to sit in the breakfast nook.  
  
“What have we got here?” He said to the boys on the floor. They giggled.  
  
“Just a couple of puppies,” I said. Terry crooked a finger at me and I went to him, bringing him one of the glasses of water. Lindsay and Darrin twisted around each other on the ground, tickling and wrestling and laughing while Terry and I looked on from the breakfast nook. Terry drank his water and put a hand over mine on the table.  
  
“Marlowe,” Terry said to me so quietly I doubted the boys could hear him. “This has been a nice evening, hasn’t it?”  
  
Eventually I convinced them to abandon the kitchen for the warm and comfortable expanses of the living room couches. As I guided them out, I felt a hand brush along my waist. I glanced over my shoulder and it was Terry, of course, batting his eyelashes at me as he parted ways with us to go down the hall. I ended up sitting in the chair while Lindsay and Darrin fell into a puddle on the sofa, chatting with them while waiting for Terry to return to us, which he never did.  
  
I pulled out my pipe and got it going. I was chewing on it when Lindsay got it into his tousled blond head to change the subject of conversation.  
  
“About Terry,” he said, interrupting me mid-way through a thought while stifling a yawn. “Do you love him?”  
  
“What?” If I was taken aback, it was mostly because we’d just been talking about the harmless topic of  downtown traffic.  
  
“Because he loves you,” he said. He blinked very slowly. “He told me so.”  
  
“Did he?” Darrin was watching me with an intensity that made me a little uncomfortable. My face was burning. I wasn’t sure he’d totally bought into what Terry and I had been selling, like Lindsay had. Lindsay gave a nod.  
  
“And it’s obvious. From the way he looks at you. Like he never wants to be looking at anything else.” The knot in my chest made another appearance. “But you… I can’t quite tell. You’re very closed off.” He waved a hand at me.  
  
“Must be your age,” Darrin said, very coolly. “The older generations are more cagey with their feelings. It’s not manly to have emotions. It’s not tough.”  
  
“I’m not that old,” I protested, but pretty weakly because if I had been a different guy in high school I could have been their father.  
  
Darrin ignored me. “The times are changing, Marlowe,” he said. “I think very soon none of us will have to sneak around at all. In the next ten years.”  
  
“That’s a nice thought.” Lindsay made a warm sound of agreement. We’d lost him to the wonderland of dreams. Darrin continued to stare me down, though I could tell he was fading too, and fast.  
  
“I don’t know about you, Marlowe,” he drawled. “I just don’t know.”  
  
I puffed on my pipe and tried to put a laugh into my words. “What would convince you?”  
  
“If you loved him, I think. If it was real. If you said it.”  
  
For some reason, the floor fell out from under me at that moment. The whole world narrowed down into just my living room, to just this kid I hardly knew and myself, staring each other down. My stomach churned like I was on a  boat on a stormy sea, but everything was too quiet. My house hadn’t suddenly taken the leap down the hill in the back. Everything was steady but me. Darrin’s hard glare was steadier than I was.  
  
I took my pipe out of my mouth with a hand that was shaking.  
  
I’d never told anyone I loved them, except for my parents back when they were alive. But I’d lived forty lonely years where no woman, or man either, had ever wrapped me around their finger enough for me to say it. And I wasn’t even sure I’d ever felt it.  
  
So I couldn’t say it now, just to say it. I’d been saving it. Saving it for the right moment, just like that champagne; for the right person. Call me romantic or sentimental or stupid, but that’s how I felt about it.  
  
So I couldn’t say it about Terry, just to say it. And I didn’t want to… But the feeling was more that I didn’t want to say it _now_ , to Darrin, after being coerced into it. It would be disingenuous. It would be unfair. And was it true that Terry loved me? That all his posturing tonight had been more than mere play-acting? The mere possibility was too much to consider. And if he felt it, and had said it to Lindsay in supposed confidence, I couldn’t just say it to say it. I couldn’t, so I didn’t.  
  
“Your boyfriend’s dozed off,” I said instead, hearing the ice cube quality in my voice. “I’ll get you two a rug.”  
  
By the time I got back, Darrin had drifted off himself, slumped on the sofa. I had half a mind to leave him that way, but instead I nudged him into a position where he wouldn’t wake up with a neck stiff as a board. Lindsay shuffled with him, until they were both mostly horizontal on the sofa, nestled up with each other like a pile of puppies in a window. I draped the rug over them.  
  
They were cute together. A wide swath of dark hair cut across Darrin’s forehead and without thinking I brushed it back off out of his eyes. He was just a kid, despite any of his tough talk. I half wondered why he’d run off from home in the first place, but could imagine.  
  
I was still going to call his father. It was my job. It was the only reason he was in my living room at all right now. The only reason Terry had ever put an arm around my neck and his lips against my cheek was for a job. My job. My jaw clenched.  
  
I left Lindsay and Darrin asleep on top of each other in the living room and headed to my bedroom. It was past three in the morning and I was dead on my feet. Terry was laid out on my bed, still in his clothes, save for his shoes which were off and his jacket which was thrown over a chair. He was propped up against my headboard like he’d made an effort to wait up for me. He hadn’t made it, and now his head was canted awkwardly onto one shoulder. His hair had fallen over his face. His mouth was hanging open and when I got close I could hear he was snoring ever so slightly. It was a charming look on him. Something warm bloomed in my core. I didn’t want to wake him up, but I knew he couldn’t sleep like that. I sat on the edge of the bed next to him and nudged at him with an elbow while I tugged off my shoes.  
  
Slowly he came back to life.  
  
“Hey,” I said, “actually lie down, why don’t you?”  
  
Docile as an old mutt, he shuffled down onto the bed.  
  
“Feeling alright?” I asked. He nodded. His eyes were closed again. “Okay then.”  
  
I joined him on the bed and suddenly it was the morning. I’d fallen asleep as soon as my head had hit the pillow, and when I woke up I found I was somehow the first awake. Terry had twisted in the night and tossed an arm across my chest. It was warm and heavy, and felt right at first feeling. My back was stiff as I extricated myself from under his hold. His hair was spread across my pillows, his face slightly flushed in sleep. I brushed one stray strand of white hair up off his forehead. I felt a little sick suddenly. My chest ached.  
  
Lindsay and Darrin were still asleep in the living room, tangled up with each other. It was pretty cute. Lindsay’s hair was falling in gentle blond waves over Darrin’s chest, and I had a feeling that when he stood up the hair would stay sticking up.  
  
I perched on the arm of the sofa to call Darrin’s father. He picked up on the first ring.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Morning, Mr. Sterling. This is Philip Marlowe.”  
  
“Have you found my son yet?”  
  
“I have,” I said. I almost felt bad turning Darrin over to his father. He’d be fine though. I’d talk to him before his father showed up. “I’ve got him at my place.”  
  
There was a moment of hard silence. Then Sterling asked for my address, took it down carefully, repeated it back to me, and told me he’d be over to collect his son within the hour. I said that sounded fine. We sat silently on the line for a moment.  
  
“Listen, Sterling, Darrin’s a good kid.”  
  
“I know he is.”  
  
“You won’t be too hard on him, will you?"  
  
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then: “I don’t see how it’s any of your business how hard I am on him.”  
  
He hung up on me first.  
  
I went into the kitchen to get some coffee going, then shook the boys awake. They came out of their sleep like kittens, yawning and rubbing at their eyes and pawing at each other. I mentioned the coffee and Lindsay slunk towards the kitchen. I caught Darrin by the arm and pulled him aside before he could follow.  
  
“Your father’s coming for you,” I said to Darrin. He frowned.  
  
“How does he know I’m here?” His sweet little voice was hard, harder than it had ever been last night.  
  
“I told him.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“He paid me to,” I said. I’d never felt worse about it. “I’m a private investigator.”  
  
Darrin frowned harder and pulled his arm out of my grip. “I should’ve known, I guess.” He cursed under his breath.  
  
“Look, kid,” I said, “I like you. I’m sorry you don’t get along with your dad. But you skipped out and he was worried about you.”  
  
“Sure. Worried I’d embarrass him.”  
  
“I don’t think he cares what you do with yourself,” I said. “Just be home at night and let him know you’re safe. Don’t run off for days at a time.” He shrugged dismissively. “You’ve got a fine thing going there,” I tilted my head towards Lindsay in the kitchen, who was staring very hard at my coffee pot. “Don’t let it disappear because you’re too stubborn to compromise with your father. He might start taking issue with your activities if you don’t try and meet him halfway.”  
  
Darrin leaned in closer to me. “What about Terry? Was all that a lie? A trick?”  
  
I hesitated. Something stuck in my throat, a weight in my gut that was holding my words down. I struggled to choke anything out. “No,” I managed. But could I say that it wasn’t a lie? It had been. Or that it hadn’t been a trick? It was. And yet… and yet. Darrin stared at me, reading me as best he could. I couldn’t be sure that I wasn’t an entirely open book, my conflicted feelings playing all over my face.  
  
Abruptly, he turned and sped off into the kitchen. I watched for a moment, stunned, as he and Lindsay dug through my cabinets for cups and sugar and spoons. Darrin touched Lindsay’s waist and Lindsay moved naturally, instinctively out of the way as Darrin fleet-footed behind him. It was utterly easy for them. They complimented each other so simply. I felt a little sick and tried to tell myself it was just from lack of sleep and a burgeoning hangover.  
  
I left them to it and returned to my bedroom. Terry was still asleep, his hair falling even more messily over my pillows. He was on his side, his back to where I was standing, his hands curled against his chest. I went over to the bed and gave his shoulder a light shake.  
  
“Terry,” I said, shaking a little harder. “Terry, wake up.” I shook him again. He groaned. Another shake. One of his hands swatted at me. “Come on, Terry,” I said and gave him one last shake. Suddenly, sharply, he turned in bed, half sitting up.  
  
“What? What? Goddamn it, Sylvia, what?” His eyes were hardly open, and once he’d said it he seemed to come more fully awake and realize where he was and what he’d said. I sank to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked at me and crumbled back down onto the pillows. His hands flew to cover his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry for that, Marlowe.”  
  
“It’s alright. Hey. It’s fine.”  
  
When he moved his hands there were tears on his face. Without thinking, I reached out to wipe them away. His skin was soft and warm from sleep under my palm. Then, he propped himself up on one elbow and smiled, that crooked charming smile, and without thinking I leaned down and caught that smile in a kiss. I don’t know what exactly came over me, but it felt like the thing to do and maybe I was too hungover to think to stop myself.  
  
He hummed a little sound.  
  
“Good morning to you too,” he mumbled against my mouth. I laughed. God, I was a fool for him.  
  
“It’s time to get up. Don’t forget that we’ve got guests.” He nodded, his nose brushing against mine.  
  
“Will you make me some of that fabulous coffee of yours?”  
  
“Already got some going.”  
  
“Well in that case…” He craned his neck to kiss me again. Coming out of it, his eyes shifted to look over my shoulder. “Oh.”  
  
I turned. Darrin was standing in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine.” Terry sat up. He kicked me in the hip getting his feet on the floor. “Is that coffee for me?”  
  
“No, but you can have it.” Darrin crossed the room and handed Terry the mug. He took a sip, cringed, and handed it back.  
  
“Too sweet. You’ve ruined it.”  
  
Darrin leaned a hip against my dresser.  
  
“Do you know he ratted on me to my father?”  
  
Terry looked to me, his eyebrows raised.  
  
“What time is it?” I pointed to the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly eleven in the morning. “If he hadn’t talked to your father by now, _that_ would surprise me.”  
  
Darrin scoffed. “So you were in on it. This whole scheme.”  
  
“Like we didn’t all have a fun time last night.” Darrin looked mildly disgusted. “Yes, I was ‘in on it.’ Marlowe’s my partner. I was happy to help.” He winked at me.  
  
“I wouldn’t say ‘Partner’.”  
  
“Fine.” He gave me a playful shove on the shoulder.  
  
“Stop it!” We both snapped back to attention towards Darrin. “Stop pretending.”  
  
“Pretending?” Terry, Terry, Terry. Suave as ever Terry. “Who’s pretending?” He held calm eye contact with Darrin, who kept his jaw clamped tightly shut. “What’s the harm? Marlowe and I go out for drinks all the time. This time, we make a couple of new friends, have a grand night. At the end of it, you go back to your father, which you were going to do anyway once you ran out of money, and for all that work Marlowe makes a few hundred bucks.” I didn’t want to tell him it wouldn’t be that much. “Doesn’t seem like a bad deal at all.” He had laid it out better than I ever could have. He stood up, stretching his back. It was all so smoothly accomplished it almost made me sick. Ever since he came back from Vegas, cleaned up and married to Sylvia, Terry had been too slick for me, and he always would be. I couldn’t get a hold on him and I didn’t like that. “No harm done, really. Come along, darling. I need some breakfast.” He offered me a hand, which I for some reason took, and we went out to the kitchen.  
  
“Nicely done, Terry.” There was something a little ugly in my voice.  
  
“You owe me one.”  
  
“You solved my case for me. I owe you more than one.”  
  
“You can buy me a drink sometime.” The twinkle in his eye was damn near infectious, even despite the strange twinge of sadness to it. He stopped me in the hallway before we reached the kitchen and leaned in very close to me. “You’ve been an awfully good sport.” I didn’t know what to say to that. “Thank you.” He kissed my cheek very softly, and then was off into the kitchen. What he had to thank me for, I couldn’t fathom.  
  
We all ended up having a nice little breakfast together as we nursed our hangovers. Darrin eventually, begrudgingly, joined us. It was the strangest piece of pretending I’d ever had to do, where we all pretended that nothing had changed between last night and this morning, despite the palpable tension in the air. Yet no one turned down toast, and no one made a scene. Darrin was clearly grumpy, but Lindsay appeared too hungover to notice much.  
  
Close to noon, there was a knock at the front door and I stood to get it. That would be Darrin’s father. Darrin glanced at me as I stood from the table, and followed me out from the kitchen.  
  
“Stay here with me,” I heard Terry say to Lindsay, and I was thankful for it.  
  
We stood, Darrin and I, for a moment in front of the door. I gave him what I hoped was a comforting sort of smile. He stared grimly ahead.

I opened the door.  
  
Mr. Sterling was standing outside, looking back down the steps like he was dreading them.  
  
“Sterling,” I said.  
  
He turned sharply, his crisp suit putting my crumpled one to shame.  
  
“Marlowe.” His eyes flickered to his son. “Ah. Darrin. Very good. Come along.”  
  
I stepped aside. Darrin stepped out of the doorway with his chin up. That was pride I could admire.  
  
“Father,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry if I worried you.” The senior Sterling put a hand on the back of his son’s neck.  
  
“Yes, well,” he said. “Don’t do it again.”  
  
Darrin looked at me for very briefly, then back to his father.  
  
“Will you give me a moment to collect my things?” His father nodded, and Darrin scampered back inside, leaving me in an awkward position.  
  
“Well done, Marlowe,” Sterling coughed. “Thanks.”  
  
I shrugged. “All in a day's work.”  
  
“I’ll stop by your office with the rest of your fee tomorrow.”  
  
“Fine.” I wanted to say something more, something about Darrin, but I couldn’t figure what.  
  
Darrin returned with his jacket over one arm, gave me a curt nod, and stepped out. His strode off down the stairs and his father followed. They were in a car and gone in what felt like no more than a heartbeat.  
  
In a haze, I wandered back into the house.  
  
Terry and Lindsay were still in the kitchen, which for some reason surprised me. I hadn’t exactly expected them to scatter, but maybe.  
  
“How did it go?”  
  
“He’ll be fine.” I slid back into my seat at the nook and finished my cup of coffee without speaking again.   
  
Lindsay stayed with us politely for another half hour. After one last sip of coffee, he delicately placed his cup down, thanked me for my hospitality, said it was a pleasure to meet us both and hoped we’d all see each other again soon. Then he disappeared out of my life, leaving Terry and I alone again. Alone with each other.  
  
“So.” He said after Lindsay had gone.  
  
“So.”  
  
“We’ll have to call a cab eventually to get my car back,” Terry sighed. I agreed. Mine was still at my office. Something uncomfortable had settled into the air. I knew what it was but couldn’t imagine talking about it. The tension coagulated into a thick discomfort.  
  
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and breaking some of the terrible silence in the room. His eyebrows quirked upwards. His face was intentionally blank. My stomach leapt into my throat and I didn’t say anything. “I’ll start, then.”  
  
But then he didn’t, not for a moment anyway. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. When he did speak, he moved forward over eggshells and shards of broken glass.  
  
“Alright, Marlowe, here goes.” He took a sharp little breath inwards. “I’m... quite fond of you, as I’m sure you know. Terribly fond of you. And I think you’re fond of me. I think you also know that my…” he paused, his breath hitching a little awkwardly, “my marriage to Sylvia is a sham more than anything else. It’s convenient. For both of us, but--” Another sharp little breath. My teeth were gritted. This plain, simple talk was more than I wanted to hear. “I think you… you know what sort of man I am. Weak and soft, and all that. And now you know what sort of bars I frequent when left on my own... and with what sort of people.” He pursed his lips and fell silent. I was wound tight as a piano wire, ready to snap.  
  
“Alright,” I said.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
“Terry, what you do with your time doesn’t matter to me.”  
  
He didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched. I don’t think the conversation had gone quite the direction he’d expected. Too bad. I couldn't go where he wanted.  
  
“I appreciate your help on the case. I do, Terry, really.”  
  
“Marlowe… In the bedroom, you--” he stuttered to a stop, snapping his mouth shut. “Okay. I get it. I just have one more thing to say.” He leaned forward across the table. His lip twisted into a little sneer. “I know what kind of guy you are, or what kind of guy you _think_ you are-- tough, stoic, that crap. But I also know that all night you could have told me to quit it, and you didn’t. And then this morning, when you thought we were alone, you kissed me." The room was silent as a grave. "It wasn't pretend and it wasn't posing. It was real and it was _good_ and _you_ did it. There. That’s all.”  
  
He stood and took his cup to the sink.  
  
He’d said his piece and stubbornly left the ball in my court. I had a choice to make. I had two options.  
  
I could do nothing, and things would go back to how they’d always been between us. We’d get drinks and talk casually, and that would be it.  
  
Or I could take a risk and do something stupid. I could try it with Terry, dive into something that I couldn’t fully imagine, and so do something truly, _truly_ stupid. Stupid, but maybe wonderful. I’d had a damned good time the previous night, and wasn’t that due to Terry? To his arm around my shoulder and his laughter in my ear?  
  
But I found myself frozen. I suppose I knew that we couldn’t have anything lasting, that it couldn’t actually _work_ , which was why I’d initially dismissed what he’d been saying. I was too stunted, he was too raw. I didn’t even like him half the time, and the way he hung all over me meant he liked me too well. We couldn’t match up, and even if we could, it would be a long game of hiding and pretending. And yet, I wasn’t quite willing to say no, not in harsh or serious terms. Because he was right about me, in the way that mattered. I’d kissed him, and it hadn’t been a fluke or an accident. It had been thoughtless but it had been genuine too.  
  
“Terry,” I choked out, unable to say more. I wanted to. What I wanted to say I couldn’t put my finger on exactly, but I knew the feeling behind it, and it was tight in my throat.  
  
At the counter, Terry turned to look at me. His expression was patient, blank, a little sad, a little tired. He waited.  
  
I tried. “I’m sorry,” I said. He didn’t move. I tried to clear my throat, press what was choking me down so I could speak.  
  
“Are you? About what?”  
  
I swallowed. He was very good at this, at pushing me into speaking. His nudges were frustrating enough that I tended to want to prove him wrong.  
  
Everything I hated about myself, everything I thought was weak and miserable and hateful, everything that made me feel abnormal-- that was Terry. Terry, leaning against my counters with one hip, his pink shirt rumpled and unbuttoned too low.  
  
My stomach was churning. The smart part of me wanted to stop and turn away, to never go any further with this. But my heart, my core, couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Unbidden came the thought of the lavender-eyed sailor from all those years ago, and the tightness in my chest I’d felt, and the way I’d leaned in close and wanted to tell him everything.  
  
My chest was tight now, looking at Terry. And in spite of myself, I wanted to be closer to him. Too many competing impulses kept me locked firmly in my seat.  
  
Terry stared at me calmly for another long minute. He looked tired, and not just from a long night out.  
  
When it was clear I couldn’t get any more words out, Terry gave a heavy sigh that let quite a bit of the tension out of the room, though not out of me.  
  
“I think I’ll lie back down for a bit, if you don’t mind,” he said. “I need a little more sleep Then I’ll get out of your hair.” With that, he floated out of the kitchen and towards the back of the house. Suddenly it was like he was a ghost, still present but entirely gone. His presence lingered. I remained in my seat, churning through my thoughts. I felt rumpled and greasy from sleeping in my clothes.  
  
So I decided to clean myself up and try to start the day fresh. Maybe in a fresh set of clothes I would feel more prepared to think or move or speak.  
  
I retreated to the bathroom, only glancingly noticing that Terry was not sprawled out on the couch in the living room, and took a hot shower. It was only after I’d washed my hair that I realized I hadn’t thought to bring clean clothes in with me, so I would have to slink into my bedroom to collect them. Such are the risks of living alone too long, I suppose. One forgets that there might be other people just around the corner.  
  
So, in the end, I did my share of sneaking. Towel firmly around my waist, I cautiously turned the corner into my bedroom, peeking around the door like a child. Terry was asleep, as promised, curled up very small on my bed, his hands against his chest. But he’d also stripped down to his undershorts, his shirt and trousers folded over a chair with his jacket. I’d never seen him bare chested before, and the scars that traipsed down his back were uglier than I’d anticipated. It wasn’t hard to imagine each sharp slice of shrapnel and each careless stitch.  
  
I’d stared too long already by the time I turned towards my dresser. I pulled on shorts and an undershirt, and spent a moment toweling at my hair, which seemed noticeably grayer this morning than it had the day before.  
  
As I lowered the towel, I saw that Terry was awake, and staring at me through half-lidded eyes. He didn’t move.  
  
I drifted over to the bed, perching on the edge as I had just a few hours ago, when I’d woken him up the first time. He shifted a little, to face me better. The scars on his chest were worse than on his back, though somewhat more faded. Thoughtlessly, I reached out to touch his shoulder, feel his scars. He flinched away.  
  
I took my hand back. “You’re like a little boy.” He frowned at me. “Hiding out in here, pouting.” He pulled away further and propped himself up on his elbows. “You’re a pain in the ass, that’s what you are. You’re trouble. You’re a problem.”  
  
“You’ve said that before,” he said slowly. He was right. He was, and had always been, a problem I couldn’t solve. I didn’t understand why he lived like he did, or maybe even who he was. I couldn’t even solve how I felt about him.  
  
“Well, you are.”  
  
“I’m not pouting.” His frown deepened, and he looked younger to me than he ever. I felt a sort of pain in my heart for him, and for me for caring about him. I think I was just beginning to see what a lost cause he was. It was just starting to peek around the edges of my perception of him. And yet, as I’d said to Darrin the night before, he was my lost dog. My lost cause. I wasn’t about to abandon him. I didn’t want more distance between us. “What?” I suppose I was looking at him a little funny.  
  
“You don’t have to pout,” I said, and caught his scarred shoulder with my hand. From there it was easy to pull him close to me. I felt him tense up in a way I was familiar with. I’d felt women do it before. A tension built on anticipation and a single breath held close and tight. And then, with the briefest change between us, I closed the distance and he melted into my arms. This isn’t to say that anything about Terry was soft, actually. He was soft in his heart, but everything else was boney and firm and pushy. Thin but decidedly masculine.  
  
We tumbled down onto my bed like school kids, and spent a few hours wrapped up together. He was a damn good kisser, slow and hot and tender or fast and biting and thrilling. Good with his hands too. We laid with our backs against the headboard, smoking and nursing our hangovers and occasionally even exchanging words. I kept an arm tossed around his shoulders. He got up at some point to stretch and open a window, and I caught a look at the shimmer of his scars.  
  
“What happened to you?” I asked. “The scars, I mean.”  
  
“Not much to it,” he said, gliding smoothly back into bed with me. “The war and all that. They look pretty nasty, don’t they?” He twisted his right shoulder for me, showing off the streaks of tight white skin.  
  
“So…” I found myself saying. “You’re… are you…?”  
  
He blinked at me. “Am I what?”  
  
“Queer.”  
  
He laughed, one of those howling, barking laughs. “Christ. Well, I suppose so, sport.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on my mouth. “But then so are you.” He had me there.  
  
“Have there… been other men?”  
  
His mouth quirked into a little smile. “I was in the Army, Marlowe,” he said, like that answered it. Then he shrugged it off. “You shouldn’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.” The scars on his jaw shifted and his smiled flickered. “I promise it doesn’t matter.” I put a hand on his bicep, feeling how solid and rangy he was. His skin was warm. “I mean...” The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. “What matters is… you and me. Don’t you think? Right now. It was easy last night, wasn't it? So what about... giving it a try? What do you think?”  
  
I nodded. Give it a shot, Marlowe, I thought. Give this a chance. Have you ever felt so much for anyone else before? Terry made me goddamn weak in my knees sometimes. That wasn’t just… nothing. _Try_ , I told myself. Don’t give up before it’s even started.  
  
A tenseness came across Terry’s forehead, like he could see my mind churning and was worried I would turn away from him. It was easy to imagine a situation where I would.  
  
“I... I think it's crazy. Isn't it? What am I supposed to do? Take you to dinner? Besides, you’re married.” I say it and he frowns. Certainly could have been gentler with that.  
  
But his response sets us both smiling again: “Hardly." He scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, and it's the most sensual thing I've ever seen. "You know that doesn’t matter either. That doesn’t matter at all. I don’t care about that.” With a sardonic smile he leaned in to press a delicate kiss to the corner of my mouth. Amazing how much emotion his half-frozen face could express over the course of only a few minutes. His fingers ran along the line of my jaw and I tried fruitlessly to interpret the wistful look in his eyes. I could imagine a thousand more days like this. Warm and comfortable and spent with Terry. "You can take me to dinner, if you want." He smiled like we had never before had a meal together, sitting shoulder to shoulder at the counter of a diner, or shared a plate of eggs in my breakfast nook after a night of too hard drinking.  "Or we can just... spend time together. Do this." He kissed me again, lightly.  
  
"Yes." I whispered, finally. It came out of me like a dirty secret. "Fine, yes, I want... I want to..." Terry stopped my fumbling by kissing me, long and slow and... romantic. He pulled back, his cheeks and lips flushed.  
  
"Good. I'm... I'm glad. Me too."  
  
I couldn’t help thinking about what Lindsay had said last night, about the way Terry looked at me. Now, as he tried to read my face and I tried to read his, I watched a conflicting series of emotions flood Terry’s features. Light panic, maybe, embarrassment, heat, fondness. Something intense and palpable. When had he ever looked at me with anything but the utmost warmth? Even when we argued I never felt he didn’t like me. He never turned cold to me like I could turn on him. “Are you in love with me?”  
  
It took him off guard, that was obvious. Took me off guard too. I stared at him, waiting, angry at my own tongue. He stared back, then, abruptly, he barked out a laugh. “Why, Marlowe? Are you in love with _me_?” Flustered, he laughed again, a little bitterly, and turned to dig a spot for himself among my blankets. His face had turned a blotchy pink.  “Christ, Phil. I don’t know.” He was still laughing. Not at me. Maybe at himself. Maybe at the whole thing.  
  
I leaned back against the headboard and smoked my cigarette all the way down. Terry didn’t say anything else. We didn’t talk about it again. I kept a hand on his shoulder. It was crazy to be here at all, to consider anything more of this in the future. But there I was, and I was considering the hell out of it.  
  
Around four we called a cab to my office, and I drove him to his car at the bar by the beach. In the daylight, it hardly existed. A literal hole in the wall. His little Jupiter Jowett was sitting outside, just where we’d left it. He ran a finger through the grimy layer of sand that had accumulated on the hood.  
  
He turned to me. His white hair was shining in the sun. He squinted against it, crinkling his eyes and his scars both. He looked younger and more handsome than I’d ever seen him. “Well?”   
  
I leaned against the hood of my own car, my clunky Oldsmobile. Not half as slick as Terry’s little hot rod. Well, our cars suited us, I suppose. “One hell of a night,” I said, just to say something.  
  
“Yeah. You could say that.”  
  
We were alone near the beach, hidden by sand dunes, and he gestured for me, then flushed as pink as his rumpled shirt. It took three long strides to end up standing just in front of him, barely a breath away. His long fingers smoothed my lapels. And there, in the bright sunshine, we kissed against the hood of his car.  
  
About a month later-- one month of drinks and laughter and warmth, of sweet kisses and afternoon naps and Terry's long legs tangled up in mine, and of only one small fight that we shrugged off-- he said something about Sylvia that I couldn’t stand, and I turned cold on him for just long enough to leave him sitting at a bar alone. I hated hearing about Sylvia. Always had. It was an ugly reminder of his other life. His life with Sylvia that I wasn’t part of and that I didn’t understand. His poodle life. Well, ten minutes later I regretted it, but ten minutes later I was somewhere else. Even after I had cooled down, I didn’t go back or try to hunt him down. I didn’t call him. I figured it would blow over, like most of our little spats, and I would see him tomorrow. But this one didn’t. Skittish as a bird and far too proud, Terry stopped coming by my office. And just like that I had blown it. I had run him off. Our little affair, such as it was, sputtered and died with a few of my harsh words. One short month of blissful nights and affectionate early mornings, and I'd cracked it all to pieces. Give it a shot, I’d told myself. What a joke. I couldn’t have given it a real shot because I’d, of course, ruined it pretty much immediately. That’s Philip Marlowe for you. Ruining everything halfway decent that’s ever happened to him, right away. Anything he touches he ruins. Keep him away from fine china.  
  
I didn’t get a chance to fix it either because the next time I even saw Terry was a month after that when he showed up at my front door at five in the morning with a gun in his hand. We were awkward to each other, tense, and then I drove him to Tijuana.  
  
All that trouble and we didn't even kiss goodbye.

 


End file.
